Featured Tracks:

"Dust Devil"

Mission of Burma

"Second Television"

Mission of Burma

A decade into their second career, Mission of Burma have become the musical equivalent of an athlete who succeeds with fundamentals over flash, or a team that defends its way into the playoffs every year. There aren't tons of transcendent moments on their four post-reunion albums, and it's unlikely any band will be inspired to cover any of the 52 songs they've recorded since 2002 (unlike their first go-round, when they made such gems that even Mobypaid tribute). But there's not a weak second to be found, and each record is winningly relentless. Whenever it seems like time for a lull, the quartet hits hard with another rock-solid tune. In the process they shame more exciting bands who catch fire here and there but can't sustain the same kind of heat.

Ironically, the quartet did shake things up a bit when making Unsound. According to press materials, they switched instruments on some songs and recorded in their rehearsal space rather than a proper studio. You can hear some small differences, most obviously when Bob Weston's trumpet adds some mayhem to a few tracks. But their core sound remains as it ever was: a punk-derived mix of brains and muscle, as obsessed with angles and time-shifts as battle-cry choruses. And they continue to meld three distinct styles: the twists and turns of Roger Miller, the melodic anthems of Clint Conley, and the burly bark of Peter Prescott.

That meld is clear from the start of Unsound, which opens with Miller's slanted riffs in "Dust Devil", moves into Conley's fluid hooks in "Semi-Pseudo-Sort-of-Plan", then dives into Prescott's throaty "Sectionals in Mourning". There's still something magical about how Burma can do justice to those three voices-- ones that have proved worthy of sustaining their own bands (see Volcano Suns and Consonant)-- yet combine them into a clear vision. That vision persists through songs that seem repetitive at first, but on closer inspection prove to have intricate layers. Take the Conley-sung "Second Television". The first few times through, I heard it as a basic album-sustainer, but at some point all the small parts and tiny changes revealed something more complex. Maybe all Burma songs are best observed under a microscope-- there's often a world of sonic events and choices inside each one.

And maybe that's why Burma albums are rarely surprising. They're not based on surface differences but on the details buried below. Still, I was surprised by one track on Unsound, which the quartet plants at the end with the ironic title "Opener". Slashing through a staircase of riffs, the track is practically an instrumental, save for when Prescott chants, "forget what you know," over and over. That could be what the band intends you to do when you hear it, but it still sounds like Mission of Burma. Even when they stretch, their musical personality is so strong that they end up further confirming their consistency.